


Guinea Pig & Groundhogs

by DoubtingDuplicity



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, Angst, Clyde and Craig is the main ship, Creek is more a spiritual bond thing, Drunk Sex, Heavy Angst, M/M, POV Third Person, Smut, They're all 18, cringey af writing, cryde - Freeform, probs bittersweet ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13264488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubtingDuplicity/pseuds/DoubtingDuplicity
Summary: Craig is stuck in time and Clyde seems to be the key out.Basically Groundhog Day in South Park.I made a relatedvideofor this fic





	1. The Hog Wakes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I initially didn't want to post this because it was a self-fulfilling personal project of mine that I just did on the side. However, after reading a bunch of other talented authors in the fandom, I felt inspired to improve my writing.  
> That said, please give constructive criticism if you have any, and all kudos and bookmarks are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Enjoy :D

 

_September 11th. 20XX._

 

_6:30 AM._

 

Craig woke to the Red Racer theme blasting. He got up, and was halfway through with the motion of chucking the alarm against the wall before he decided against it. It was his phone alarm, after all. He groaned and grudgingly placed the outdated thing on the nightstand before pulling open the closet doors. Shades of bleak greys and blacks greeted him back. He decided that a Rat Grey hoodie described his mood for today quite accurately.

 

As soon as he was dressed, Craig trudged down the hallway. He went out the door that lead to the backyard, holding a cup of water, and stopped in front of a small mound of dirt with a fresh green bud poking out the middle. Somewhere beneath the flower was Stripe, Craig’s guinea pig friend. Even after its burial in his elementary years, Craig always felt that Stripe would watch over him. So when he discovered the new life budding on his old friend’s grave, watering said plant naturally became part of his routine.

 

“It’s getting quite cold, take care of yourself,” Craig whispered. The mound replied with silence, the answer Stripe always gave. He allowed a moment for the response to sink in before heading back inside to whip up some pancakes for Tricia.

 

He wolfed down his portion and left Tricia’s on the dining table for whenever she felt like waking up. It still made no sense how his sister never ran late to school.

 

At the entrance, he stepped into his faded converses and snatched his worn blue backpack on the way out.

 

“Jesus Christ!”  

 

Tweek was sitting at the bottom of the doorstep, jumping up in alarm as he heard the door creak open. Despite waiting for Craig at the same place on a daily basis, his nerves made it so that he managed to be scared by the noise every time.

 

“Close, but not quite,” said Craig, thin lips pulling up into the slightest of smiles. “The name’s Craig Tucker.”

 

“Aargh--! Fuck you Craig,” responded Tweek as he checked for stains on his green plaid shirt, only letting out a sigh of relief when there was no evidence of his coffee spilling. As if determined not to add to the splotches of brown decorating his clothes, the blonde downed the last bit of content in his cup. Craig mentally noted to keep Tweek away from caffeine for the rest of the day. That is, until the withdrawal hits. Last time that happened it ended with Craig losing a tooth and patches of Tweek’s hair ripped from his scalp. Thankfully, that wasn’t his adult tooth.

 

“Come here,” said Craig with a curve of his fingers, gesturing for Tweek to move closer, which he did without complaint. The blonde knew what was coming, since it served as a morning ritual of sorts.

 

Despite being well above 6 feet tall, Craig could barely see the top of Tweek’s head. He recall being shocked at being nearly surpassed by Tweek in middle school. The taller of the two bent down partially as he searched for the bottom button. Upon feeling the familiar round outline of it in his hand, Craig focused on aligning and fitting the button to its designated spot, moving up one at a time. Many times his flow was disrupted by a button occupying the wrong space, which he simply released from the loop to allow the other’s replacement. It was relaxing, to say the least. Tweek watched Craig’s hands in silence, more tranquil than he will ever be during the rest of the day. Occasionally, Craig’s icy hands would graze the skin on Tweek’s stomach, causing him to shudder. Craig noticed this, so he slowed down the buttoning process and proceeded gingerly.

 

“History, first?”

 

Tweek jumps a little, as if he has forgotten communication was part of Craig’s human package. “Ah--Y-yeah……”

 

“Cool.” said Craig in his usual monotonous manner. “I have Astronomy next door to you, so I’ll walk you to your classroom.”

 

“N-nah, I’m good, dude.”

 

“Like hell you’re good,” Craig snapped, gaze trailing Tweek’s hands. They’re shaking. “Gimme that.”

 

He saw out of the corner of his eyes how Tweek’s mouth opened and closed as the raven haired boy held the other boy’s hand in his, whatever comment the blonde had in mind replaced by an expression of annoyance, and shortly after, one of quiet defeat.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Craig simply shrugged in response.

* * *

 

 

As much as everyone in the city of South Park wanted to believe in their forced relationship, Tweek and Craig were something different. From all the time they shared together, Craig concluded that they were perfect for each other. Perfect in the sense that they were two halves of a whole; two incomplete souls that formed one being. Tweek’s emotional side complimented his apathetic personality. To say that the two teenage boys were in a _romantic relationship_ is not entirely incorrect, but Craig would argue that the more accurate term those dumbasses were searching for is _codependency_.

 

“You don’t need to do this… y-you know,” Tweek’s voice cut into his train of thought. “If this is about the bullies, I can handle them.” They were still holding hands, walking down the mostly empty Westwing hallway. The walls stank of sweat and moldy lunches.

 

“I know.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Of course you’re more than capable,” Craig tried to not sound as insulted as he felt. He knows first hand from their fights as children that Tweek had a mean uppercut. “I just wanna step in as a buffer to make sure you don’t kill those bastards.”

 

“A--AaAugh!!! Just thinking of those guys make me sick!” yelled Tweek, pulling at his sandy blonde strands in frustration.

 

“Don’t let those assholes get to you.” Craig came to a halt in front of Tweek’s classroom. He let go of the other’s hand. “You’ll be fine, honey.” They both smile a little at the ridiculously cheesy pet name, as if it was an inside joke. The word was so out of place in their relationship.

 

The boy in the chullo hat pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his friend’s lips, easing Tweek’s anxiety with what had became a natural habit for him. He watched as Tweek hesitantly waved and disappeared behind the door frame.

 

Ready to head to his own period, Craig turned to find himself staring face to face with a familiar figure in a red and white varsity jacket.

 

“Clyde?” asked Craig, confused. Why was Clyde even in this corridor? He never saw his best friend during the morning, so he assumed that the boy didn’t have classes in the same area of the building as he did. Not that South Park High was a massive school.

 

It must be a trick of the eye, because Craig thought he saw a flash of some resemblance of bitterness on the brunette’s face.

 

“Yoo, dude!” replied Clyde with his usual shit-eating grin. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

 

“You were at my house yesterday playing video games.”

 

“But it just feels like I don’t see you much at school, you know? Like I barely see you around.”

 

“We literally spend lunch period together with Token, Jimmy and Tweek _everyday._ ”

 

“Wow,” Clyde gave a hearty laugh, “it’s like I can never win.”

 

“Think on the bright side,” said Craig, the amusement obvious in his tone. “ At least you don’t need to worry about not winning, since you can’t lose more than you already have.”

 

“Are you calling me a loser?” Clyde pouted. “Craig, you hurt me deeply.”

 

“Enough of this,” Clyde opened his mouth to protest but Craig waved him off. “It’s your fault if I get to class late.”

 

“Fine,” Clyde walked backwards to face Craig for a while before turning around the corner, “catch you later, I guess.”

 

As much as the bantering made Craig feel that everything was the way he liked it --- nice and boring --- he couldn’t help wondering why Clyde was there in the first place. And the way the boy acted...was his friend there the whole time as he kissed Tweek goodbye? He felt his face heat up at the thought of the brunette eyeing his lips in the concentrated manner Clyde sometimes did. Or seemed to do. He was being too self conscious, dammit. Maybe Tweek was rubbing off on him.

 

With numerous questions on his mind, Craig made his way to his classroom.

* * *

 

It was an uneventful day. After the long day of school, Craig was exhausted. Why the hell did he need to learn half the things he did? He was sure that integration by parts would _definitely_ be useful to his 25 year old future self when faced with starvation and mortgage and taxes.

 

Tossing and turning on his bed, the boy nearly shot straight up when his text tone boomed through the room. Swearing, he prepared himself mentally to face the blinding screen. It was of no use. His eyes were tearing up by the time he finally adjusted enough to the light to see the incoming message.

 

It read:

 

_FROM: GET THAT D (CLYDESTOPCHANGINGYOURNICKNAMEONMYPHONE)_

 

_\----------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Hel_

 

Craig raised an eyebrow. Did that guy just fall asleep in the middle of his message? He waited for a continuation of the text but none others were sent. Eventually, Craig found himself drifting off to sleep, the mysterious message on his phone left unresolved in the cup of his hand.

  


_6:30 AM._

 

Craig woke to the same Red Racer alarm. He yawned and stretched, walking up to his table where he always placed his phone. His phone. Wait. His eyes widened as he realized that today it should have been left on the bed rather than its usual location, due to Clyde’s confusing message last night. There was no way he could have unconsciously put it back on the table without getting up from the bed. And he did not sleepwalk.

 

Everything was probably fine. Craig rationalized, that just because a small object is out of place, it isn’t sufficient evidence to prove that there’s been a break from his routine. After all, it’s not like the time with Stan and his gang and their insane adventures. Unlike them, Craig’s world was realistic. It was practical.

 

The boy got dressed and pulled on his chullo hat, calming down with every daily activity. Right before he left his room, he peeked at his phone to make sure he wasn’t running late.

 

That’s when he saw it. The old mobile dropped to the ground, colliding with hardened tiles that shattered the screen into minuscule glass shards spilling everywhere.

 

Craig stared at his hands where the phone used to be.

 

The screen has taken away what little that remained of his sanity.

 

_6:45 AM._

 

_September 11th. 20XX._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. All's Well That Ends Well, So It'll Never End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig puts on his trench coat and grabs a cigar. Time for some serious investigation. Can he reach the end of the loop?

_What the actual fuck is going on._

 

Sitting on his unmade bed and brainstorming for logical explanations, Craig was feeling rather exhausted. A thought that popped into his mind at the absurdity of the situation was the revelation that he must not have survived last night. That would justify why he was here, repeating yesterday for the second time. He was being given a chance to redo whatever grave mistake that cost him his life.

 

Being an avid reader of fiction, in particular science fiction stories that took place in space, Craig was no stranger to the concept of time loops. In the face of his odd reality, his usual skepticism has been pushed aside to allow bitter acceptance of the truth. All that’s left for him to figure out was, first, the trigger that was causing the phenomenon and, second, how to resolve said issue. Until the two answers are found, Craig decided to play it safe. Aside from the short session of mental breakdown, he proceeded to do everything he did yesterday: he picked the same rat grey hoodie, went out briefly to water the Stripe plant, and cooked breakfast for his sister. The pancakes even tasted identical. A solid 8/10 for the fluffy texture.

 

“Jesus Christ!” Tweek’s outburst sounded like a cue in a school play, right as Craig stepped out of the house. The raven haired boy forced a smile.

 

“He’s right down the street,” Craig pointed behind Tweek at the faded silhouette of a house, eaten away by the morning fog rolling in the distance. “Do you need his address too?”

 

“Aargh—Fuck you Craig,” Tweek huffed, giving his shirt a thorough inspection for stains.

 

_...So even if I deviate from the past, the responses are the same? Does that mean I can't change the predetermined outcome? Wait, maybe, just maybe… I got this all wrong? Maybe it was a dream? Or I’m in a program after all? Like Inception or The Matrix? With the VR gaming advancements it’d make more sense than the loop…_

Craig thought to himself, a hand supporting his chin in a pondering manner.

 

Or so he thought, until he lifted his head to see Tweek looking at him as if he was sprouting ten heads on his shoulders.

 

“Dude! S--stop it!” Exclaimed Tweek, head tilting with every blink and body shaking, all telltales signs for the beginning of an attack. “What are you going on about?! All that muttering is---AAhgh!! Freakingmeout!!!”

 

“Calm down, Tweek,” Craig tried to keep his tone level. It was a difficult task considering _he_ didn't even know what he was caught up in, much less how to get out. Hope was bleak, but it must still be there. He needed to be strong right now, for Tweek’s sake. “I was just remembering the shitty game I played with Clyde yesterday.”

 

“Oh,” the blonde visibly relaxed after a while, although still nibbling his bottom lip nervously.

 

“That's it, so you don't need to worry.” Craig began buttoning.

 

“Did you guys eat the cupcakes? I left them in a tupperware carrier at the door.”

 

“Ya,” smiled Craig, raising a hand to ruffle Tweek’s hair affectionately before going back to fumbling with the plaid shirt. “Your vanilla cupcakes are the best.”

 

Tweek chuckled at the compliment, but worry soon clouded his face. “Didn't Clyde say he liked chocolate?”

 

“Fuck Clyde. For all his complaining he barely left me any. The only taste I got was the half a cupcake I salvaged from him by ripping it directly out of his mouth.” Craig would emphasize his annoyance with an eye roll if he actually gave a fuck. And as Tweek knew--- he doesn't. “Thought he was going to bite my hand off.”

 

“It's nice that I’m n-not making you neglect your friends,” Tweek spoke quietly, eyes tracing Craig’s fingers, “or else I’d feel awful.”

 

“Opposite of neglection, more like. Ever since you started sending me baked goods Clyde has been glued to my doorstep.”

 

“I don't think it was my cupcakes.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I think Cly--”

 

“-- It’s done! Gimme your hand,” Craig dusted his hands for the completion effect, proud of his handiwork. Nothing like every button in its rightful place. “We should start heading to school.”

 

“...Ya, you're right.”

* * *

 

“Yoo, dude!” replied Clyde with his usual shit-eating grin. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

 

“You were at my house yesterday playing video games.” repeated Craig, then impulsively decided to add his own ad-lib. At least this morning with Tweek seemed to prove that not everything he said needed to be the same as last time. “Speaking of which..”

 

“Ya? What's up?”

 

“Did you get home ok? Like, did anything weird happen?”

 

He saw how Clyde’s eyes suddenly became shifty, like the brunette was attempting to keep eye contact and avoid being seen through simultaneously. The cheesy grin that dropped with the shock from Craig’s question was quickly recovered.

 

“Nothing in particular?” Craig watched as Clyde rubbed his neck, rather casually. “I guess there were a few cops parked near our houses due to a traffic accident but it didn't seem like a big deal.”

 

What Clyde didn't know was that being childhood friends and best friends meant Craig was a walking encyclopedia on the subject of Clyde. According to Craig’s records, Clyde was in the habit of rubbing his neck when he was feeling guilty. Dishonesty could be a potential cause.

 

“Were there?” questioned Craig, raking his memory for the sound of sirens. He got nothing. “Why do you say it's not a big deal?”

 

“What. Is this an interrogation? I’d much rather you ask me about my sex life or kinks, at least those I’d be glad to answer in full detail.” Clyde winked. However tempting it was to play along with his friend’s jokes, Craig willed himself to stay on track. He also wasn't fully sure how he would react to Clyde’s stories.

 

“Don't try to change the subject.”

 

“Urgh, fine, Craig, you win.” Clyde threw his hands up exaggeratedly in defeat. “I said it ain't important because I don't remember anything about it other than it being an accident.”

 

“Dude. At least find a better excuse.”

 

A wry smile played upon the brunette’s lips, hands stuffed into his football jacket’s pockets. “...Cried wolf one time too many, and now you won't believe me.”

 

“What?”

 

“I don't remember,” Clyde took a sudden step forward, startling Craig as the jock closed in the distance between them. “since I was too busy staring at your terribly attractive person. Did you know that Stan Marsh thinks you're hot?”

 

He could smell the peppermint on Clyde’s breath.

 

“Where did you hear that?”

 

“I overheard him in the Cows’ locker room; He was explaining to Butters that your flawless tanned skin, slim build, and fierce gaze made you very ‘fuckable’.”

 

“What the fuck.”

 

“Chill, dude,” as Clyde said this he backed off, once again giving Craig the personal space he missed dearly. “I’m just pulling your leg. Don't forget you have messed up teeth.”

 

“I. Don’t. Have. Messed. Up. Teeth.” Craig scowled, flipping his friend the bird. Ever since Tweek knocked the baby tooth from his mouth in 4th grade he’s been sensitive about the topic.

 

He could tell he had wasted too much time talking even without his phone. Although knowing the current time would certainly be great. At least that would give him some sense of being grounded when he was feeling so lost and unstable, with nothing to grasp at to stop himself from slipping. Nothing made sense. Not the time loop, nor Clyde’s evasive responses. Craig walked past Clyde and kept going.

 

“Wait, Craig!”

 

“Fuck off.” the boy pointed his middle finger over his shoulder as a farewell and stepped into his classroom.

* * *

 

“---they both are orange on the outside, hollow on the inside, and should be tossed out ime-imme--immed--immediat---immedia--immediatel---right away!”

 

“Damn!” Token nearly choked on his fillet mignon --- _who even brings steak as a packed lunch???_ \--- as he roared with laughter, “that’s hilarious! Mr. Garrison _is_ like a pumpkin.”

 

“W-wow,” Jimmy offered a shallow bow to each of his friends, “wha--what a great audience. Thanks, guys.”

 

Craig listened to the conversations of his friends absentmindedly, with Tweek’s fingers interlocked in his on the cafeteria table. The smaller blonde was resting his head on Craig’s right shoulder, with Jimmy on Craig’s left chatting away with Token. Clyde sat directly across from Craig and was unusually silent as he munched on his turkey sandwich. It made sense, considering how harsh Craig was earlier. As much as Craig wanted to remain furious at the brunette, he knew he couldn’t stay mad at Clyde. Craig cared for his best friend too much to not forgive him. He mentally sighed.

 

“Hey.”

 

He watched as the boy in the varsity jacket raised his head, gaze finally focused on Craig. He almost missed the subtle flinch Clyde responded with. Why was Clyde seeming like he was almost… afraid?

 

“I just wanna say...” Craig swallowed. It was unlike him to show any type of emotion. The vulnerability that came with displaying such weakness made the food he just ate threaten to come back up his throat. He could already taste the orange flavored acid. Delightful. “... my bad for this morning. You caught me in a bad mood and the jokes amplified the shitty feeling. I’m sorry.”

 

Clyde’s warm brown eyes widened. It was then Craig noticed that all conversations at the table came to a stop.

 

For a moment, all that was heard was bits and pieces of distant chatter in the cafeteria.

 

“What’s this? Did Craig, _our_ Craig Tucker just apologize?!” exclaimed Token, looking at the said boy in unconcealed disbelief.

 

“M--my g--g---god,” stammered Jimmy, equally as surprised judging by his hanging jaw, “we’ll be expecting a thunderstorm--no, an a--ap--apocc--apocalypse in the near future!”

 

Tweek simply stared wordlessly, amazed by what he witnessed.

 

“Shut up,” said Craig as he pulled his chullo hat lower to hide his face from his friends, “you guys are all assholes.”

 

“T-t--takes one to know o-one.”

 

“Damn, Jimmy! You’re on fire today.”

 

“A-augh! Craig, calm down!” Tweek placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

 

“Go--godd--goddamn. If l--loo-looks can kill, both Token and I would be d-dead.”

 

Craig took a deep breath. Now is not the time to be taunted. He still had something to say.

 

“Clyde?” he looked at his best friend, acting as nonchalant as ever. “Are we… cool?”

 

Craig knew his friend used to be quite the crybaby, but he didn’t expect Clyde to burst into tears in this instant. No one had seen Clyde crying over anything ever since his mom’s funeral, and eventually, people had all but forgotten about the sobbing little boy leaning over his mother’s coffin, and instead came to associate the name Clyde Donovan to the goofy yet charming South Park Cows’ center player that many cheerleaders gushed over.

Craig was at a loss for words. He wanted to lean in and cup Clyde’s face between his hands. He wanted to use his thumbs to wipe away the fat tears that glistened on the brunette’s wet lashes and rolled down his slightly chubby cheeks. Instead, he just sat there, dumbfounded.

 

A few moments later, Craig finally found his voice. “I..I’m..Did I say something wrong?”

 

People were definitely gawking now, if they weren’t earlier.

 

“Dammit Craig,” said Clyde in between sobs, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “wWhy are you so freaking nice!”

 

“What are you on a--”

 

“No! Let me finish. It’s me who’s a horrible human being. I took something meant for you and hid it from you. I was scared… that you would hate me...I couldn’t b...bear it if you hated me, Craig.” Clyde was rambling at this point, and Craig haven’t a clue what he was talking about. “Yet _you_ apologized to _me_?! For what? I don’t deserve to accept your apology, Craig!”

 

“Clyde? What is going on?”

 

The room was so still with anticipation one could hear the drop of a pin. Even the constantly gossiping freshman girls had shut up, drawn in by the drama of the seniors.

 

“Craig.” the brunette’s voice trembled as he struggled to see, blinking the tears out of his eyes. It hurted Craig to see the boy like this. “I’m sorry. I tried but I can’t help myself.”

 

Something creaked above. Craig faintly registered the fact that the sound didn’t belong in the room, but was too caught up in the conversation to care. “I already told you, this morning was all my fault so let--”

 

“I’m in love with you.”

 

A series of gasps echoed in the cafeteria, followed by excited mumbling.

 

Craig’s mind was absolutely blank.

 

_Creak._

 

“WATCH OUT!”

 

His head snapped to the source of the voice. Tweek was frozen in fear, head tilted upwards. Craig followed his gaze to see the moment as a collection of ceiling tiles collapsed, following after the detached fan that was right above Clyde’s head. He lunged forward, stepping on his seat and leaping over the table to Clyde, shouting. Everything was moving frame by frame: slowly; painfully.  Craig saw the confusion that washed over Clyde quickly turn to horror, his eyes that were swollen from crying now pleading for help.

 

And watched as the rubble hungrily devoured the boy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your support! I know the writing's probably a mess but I do have the skeleton of the plot thought up so bear with me haha
> 
> If you can't stand characters suffering this is probably not the fic for you :D


	3. The Best Way Out is Through And He Is Through With This Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up as Craig finds out more information about the loop.

Craig woke to himself screaming over the Red Racer theme song.

Covered in cold sweat, he couldn't bring himself to get up and turn the damn thing off, couldn't muster the strength to move a muscle. He couldn't even remember why he didn't switch the childish tune out for a trashy pop song or some music of that nature. The melody played and faded out, only to loop all over again. _How Ironic_.

The image of Clyde resurfaced, still fresh in Craig’s mind, and he’s suddenly up on his feet, adrenaline shooting through his veins as he ran to the washroom on barefoot and emptied himself into the toilet bowl. For what felt like hours he just knelt there before the contents of his stomach, panic accentuating every scrambled thought. He could still hear the song playing softly on repeat through the wall, due to the washroom not being exactly the most soundproof room in the Tucker household. In fact, none of them were, which made him thankful that his sister was such a heavy sleeper.

As much as Craig needed the time to sort out all that’s been happening to him, he didn't have the luxury of another mental breakdown. He needed to pull himself together.

Even though everything was tearing him apart.

He returned to his bedroom, counting each creak in the floorboards to ground himself. Turning off the alarm, he examined the phone in his hand. Despite it being Craig’s loyal everyday companion, the object appeared so foreign, like an acquaintance whose name was just at the back of one’s mind but can't be remembered. It felt like ages since Craig had last seen his mobile. The boy snorted, amused by his own idiocy for not noticing how his definition of ‘everyday’ was probably outdated. He wondered if living the same 24 hours over and over for all eternity counted as his everyday from now on. His day was just like the Red Racer alarm: a looping existence with no end in sight.

Craig shook his head to rid himself of the idea. Sure, he was a pessimist by nature and he still had no leads on how to get out of this shitty situation, but he believed there was an end. Just like how he put an end to the alarm, he _will_ put an end to this cursed day once and for all.

The gears in his brain slowly turned. Unlike the first time, the second loop occurred before the day was anywhere near being over, the only difference being…..of course! How could he have been so blind!! Craig punched the nearest wall, angry, more at himself than anyone else. With the pain of the impact he was fully awake, finally piecing together the obvious evidence that he previously overlooked in his grief.

_Clyde’s death activates the loop._

Since Craig was granted another chance, he will certainly take measures to prevent history from repeating itself. Most importantly, he would definitely _never_ allow Clyde to… to…

The boy bit his lip harshly to prevent a sob from slipping through.

There was but one notion on his determined mind: protect his best friend at all costs. He had a growing suspicion that if his plan for the day does succeed, he might finally be able to see the dawn of tomorrow.

* * *

  
“You’ll be fine, honey.” Craig leaned in, intending to kiss Tweek like he normally would outside the blonde’s classroom, but yesterday(technically today)’s nightmare was etched into the back of his eyelids and he felt sick to the point of hurling so he decided against it. As an alternative act to soothe Tweek’s anxiety, he touched his forehead to Tweek’s gently, staring into those beautiful emerald eyes, round as saucers as they stared back at him. It was similar to gazing into a majestic green ocean. Craig felt his nausea easing. Once again, he was reminded that as much as Tweek need him, he needed Tweek _just_ as much in return.

“...You alright?” Tweek asked quietly, long lashes brushing against Craig’s as he looked up to meet the taller boy’s gaze. Despite being seen as the uncontrollable spaz of the group, Craig had always known about Tweek’s perceptive side. The boy could read a person like he could read his play script for theatre: both intuition and stage performance never missing the mark.

“Could be better,” Craig shrugged. There was no point in hiding things from Tweek usually, but this was an exception. He really didn't want to give that final push to Tweek’s paranoia. Not to mention the panic attacks he’d earn from the blonde for explaining the truth.

Tweek gave him a meaningful look but said no more. He moved his forehead from Craig’s and waved goodbye, leaving the taller boy watching his back as he went inside.

Craig took a deep breath. Here goes Super Craig.

“Clyde?” he asked as he heard the footsteps behind him. He wanted to delay seeing his friend’s face a little longer, for mental preparations were still underway.

“Woah, how’d you know it was me even without turning around? Where do you keep your extra pair of eyes?”

“I don't know, where are yours?” Craig turned around in small increments, Clyde’s laughter at his robotic movements so iconically Clyde that he was dangerously near tears. Rather than making full eye contact, Craig focused on a spot slightly above Clyde’s eyes, at a tuft of brown hair that stuck out defiantly. Bed head had never looked cuter on anyone Craig knew than the way it did on Clyde.

“I keep my eyes on you.” Clyde’s tone was dead serious, contrast to his previous jests. “Always do.” Instinctively out of curiosity, Craig’s gaze wandered downwards to lock eyes with the jock. The storm of emotions he found in those dreamy hazel orbs sent a shiver through him.

“I...uh..”

Clyde looked at something on the wall behind Craig, presumably a clock, and grimaced. “Oh shit! Need to run to math! Catch you later, dude!” he shouted and dashed down the corridor.

And Craig was left alone in the hallway as the bell chimed, unable to make heads or tails of their interaction.

* * *

  
Craig’s heart sank when he walked into the cafeteria with Tweek. Clyde was already sitting at their usual lunch table, a sandwich in one hand and grinning boyishly with Token at some joke Jimmy just told them. An shaky image of the Clyde that was buried alive overlapped with the current Clyde, like a revolting filter that was stuck onto a film roll.

Before his brain had began processing, Craig’s feet had brought him in front of Clyde. He grabbed his friend by the wrist. “Clyde, come with me for a sec.”

The brunette looked up from his seat, the grin fading as his eyes settled on Craig. “Ok.”

Craig release his grip on Clyde’s arm and walked out the way he came in, telling Tweek who was still standing at the door to eat without him. He then checked over his shoulder to make sure Clyde was following. His friend was still at the table, likely reassuring Token and Jimmy that everything was fine between them. Craig watched as Token hooked an arm around Clyde's neck and whispered something. The brunette blushed instantly and shot up from the table, making his way to Craig.

“So,” Clyde said as he leaned against a locker, “what do you wanna talk about?”

“Can I come over to hang out today?” Craig observed how the brunette’s blush turned one shade darker, extending to his ears.

“Totally! Wait. I mean,” Clyde stumbled over his words, brows furrowed, looking like a giant Golden Retriever that was conflicted between playtime and dinnertime. “I’d need to clean my room first, but after that you’d be welcome to chill at my place.”

“You don't need to go through all the trouble, seeing as I basically know your room inside out. Besides, you never bothered to clean it.”

“NO! I, uh, wouldn't want you to accidentally step on something and twist your ankle.” said Clyde, rubbing his neck.

Craig narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” Clyde’s response was immediate.

“It’s fine, Clyde. I promise I won't be mad. At least I won't knock the lights out of you for it unless it was a _real_ dick move.”

“Real words of encouragement, man. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

An enigmatic part of Clyde’s past confession was brought to Craig’s attention. He decided to test the waters by taking a stab in the dark. “I forgive you for taking my gift, so just let me know if I can drop by your place without all the cleaning bullshit.”

He saw the colour drain from Clyde’s face. “You knew.”

“Ya,” lied Craig. “ so just be honest. I want to trust you, but I can't if you keep hiding things from me.” _Hypocrite_.

Silence hung heavy between them. Clyde’s Adam's apple bobbed.

“...I’m sorry…”

“It’s ok, but why did you take it?”

“It’s…”

Craig strained his ears to make out the words that his friend was muttering under his breath. No such luck. “What did you say?”

“I said, It’s all your fault for spending every second of your time with Tweek! I was worried that if you saw the gift box you’d run to Tweek’s place to thank him instead of gaming with me!” Clyde yelled with clenched fists at his sides, loud enough to turn a few heads in the cafeteria to wonder what was going down in the hallway. The brunette covered his mouth with a hand, shocked at his own outburst. “Fuck,” he whispered through his fingers, “that wasn't supposed to come out.”

“Wait. What did this have to do with Tweek?” Craig wondered, brows knit in confusion.

“Huh? Wasn't the gift from Tweek?”

“No, at least not that I know of.”

“No? Then who was it from?” Clyde scratched his head, mirroring Craig’s perplexed expression.

“I think if I saw it, I might be able to figure out more.” He twirled the strings of his hat around his finger and sighed. It seemed to be that the more leads he found, the less sense they made.

Clyde shuffled his feet, his weight alternating between each leg. “So is that… a yes to coming over?”

Despite irritated with how unproductive this day had been, Craig found his lips pulled up into a smirk. “Is South Park a white trash town? Is Craig Tucker gay? Is 2 times 5 equal to 12?”

“Shut up, I can't be the only one who thought that. For one, Mr. Garrison didn't teach us _shit_ in fourth grade. For two… no, that's it.” The reminiscing brought Clyde’s grin back upon his face. Craig suddenly had the urge to shield his eyes from how blinding it was. Screw Clyde and his perfect teeth.

It was then that Craig’s stomach decided to politely intervene with a resounding growl.

A snort.

Before Clyde’s bubbling sounds could evolve to fits of laughter in which the boy would be rolling on the floor while clutching at his sides, Craig made a beeline back to the cafeteria, but not before sending a death glare in the direction of his friend.

“Wait.” Craig turned to Clyde who was positively beaming at him. “I love ya, bro.”

“That’s gay.”

“You’re gay.”

He shrugged. “Meet you at the gates at 4? Or do you have practice?”

“4 is fine by me.” Clyde caught up to Craig and slung an arm around the other’s shoulder. “Let's dig in before lunch period ends or I might actually consider sucking on a blood bag.”

Craig gave his best friend a playful push. “Gross, dude, dial it down a bit.”

As they approached their table, Token stood up to greet Clyde with a painfully loud high five. Unsure of what that was about, Craig plotted down in Clyde’s usual spot.

“Hey!” whined Clyde in protest, “You took my seat!”

“It’s mine now.”

“I--I---is that seat the l-lu--lucky seat or something?” Jimmy shook his head dramatically in mock disappointment, propping his hands on his crutches. “C-come on, Craig, do----do-d-d-don't be an asshole.”

“It’s the best seat and I refuse to move.”  
  
Jimmy opened his mouth but was stopped by Token, a mother-hen gaze that simply asked Jimmy to leave his rebellious teenage son alone. Tweek was twitching a little, too busy touching up on his daily caffeine to pay close attention.

In the end, Clyde sat down with a huff, in between Jimmy and Tweek and opposite to Craig.

Craig didn't care if they thought he was rude, or if they thought he was insanely childish.

As long as he could keep Clyde out of this seat, even if he ended up being crushed in Clyde’s stead, well, that counted as lucky for him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I didn't expect people to enjoy reading this, so thanks so much for taking the time to leave comments and kudos! Just a heads up that update will become painfully slow since uni is hell right now, but we are getting to the 'juicy' parts of the story. I'll likely put up a note for explicit content since the events so far have been rather pure so for those who like it that way they can skip over the smut bits.
> 
> Hope you all have a fantastic week!


	4. Ignorance Is Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clyde is the happiest boy alive^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Yo people, my brain decided to be motivated at 5am so I ended up drawing a video base on this fic. I'll likely post the link when it's finished :3  
> Until then, stay well and drink lots of water (flu season here)

“The …..equation is the fundamental equation of physics for describing quantum mechanical behavior. It is also often called the..…..equation, and is a partial differential equation that describes .....” The professor droned on.

  
Clyde raised a hand to cover his mouth, eyes teary as he yawned. He stared at the clock above the blackboard. Come on already. Of course the only time he cared about getting out of class on time(he usually chilled around a bit to avoid being one of those practice-keeners) was also when the clock hand literally refused to move. _Broken piece of shit._

  
“Can you stop that?” he turned around to an extremely irritated Wendy Testaburger, pointing her pen downwards in his general direction. “It’s really distracting.” He didn’t expect that the honour student would talk to him when they were still in class, but then again, the teacher’s hearing didn’t extend to the very last row of the classroom.

  
“Stop what?”

  
“Just sit still in class for once --- for god’s sake, Clyde Donovan.” Only then, did the brunette pay attention to his legs, which were bouncing up and down involuntarily. Was he really that excited? Token’s teasing from earlier didn’t help either, nor did his father’s business trip.

  
“The party doesn’t start until 9 so hold your horses.” Wendy rolled her eyes, turning back to jot down equations in her notebook.

  
Clyde frowned. Okay, now she lost him. “What party?”

  
Wendy kept writing while facing forward. Believing that the girl had missed his question, Clyde was prepared to repeat it when Wendy spoke again. “I’m surprised that Stan didn’t invite you. I thought you guys were the closest on the football team.”

  
Clyde recoiled at the memory of his most recent encounter with Stan, in which the quarterback was talking about Clyde's best friend as if he was nothing more than an object for sexual pleasure. “We’re not… that close.” His blood was boiling and he was immensely glad that Stan was not in the classroom currently, or else he didn’t have the confidence that he’d be able to hold back from punching the guy’s face in. “We just learn to tolerate each other so that the team doesn’t fall apart.” He paused. “Did Stan invite you to whatever this is?”

  
“It’s to celebrate Butter’s 18th birthday,” Wendy said and Clyde could almost taste the venom in her following words, “although Stan and his group of idiots wouldn’t hesitate to use any occasion as their excuse as long as they get smashed.”

  
“Are you going?” Clyde can’t help but feel sympathetic towards Wendy. Despite having been voted in as valedictorian and being one of the most sought-after girls in South Park High, Wendy Testaburger never fully got over the one black mark on her impeccable history ---Stan Marsh. Stan wasn’t the only one at fault, considering all the times Wendy heartlessly abandoned him only for them to get back together again, but Clyde still remembered the way the boy broke up with Wendy during their sophomore year. It felt like it was just yesterday when he was one of many onlookers that witnessed Stan essentially announcing to the whole school that he was Bi for Kyle. His face after that declaration was not pretty, as guaranteed by Wendy. Maybe she hated him less since it’s already been two years since then, but Clyde somehow doubted that lingering feelings ---positive or negative--- would fade so easily. He surely hated the man for talking about potentially cheating on his boyfriend with Craig.

  
Wendy looked back at him dolefully. “I’m disgusted at myself for considering it, but it’s like… no matter how much I try to put my focus elsewhere, my thoughts keep returning to him.”

  
Their conversation came to an abrupt end, as Clyde sensed that Wendy was delving too deep into her regrets to continue speaking to him. While he was listening to her talk about her ex, images of a certain tall and devilishly handsome guy in a blue chullo occupied his mind. _Me too, Wendy. I can’t stop thinking about him._

  
The bell rang moments after, and Clyde wasted no time throwing his belongings into his backpack and running out into the halls.

* * *

 

By the time the brunette actually reached the school gates ---which was after four trips to his locker since he kept forgetting things in his rush(he never did perform well when given a time constraint) --- it was pouring outside. Thankful that his dad had shoved him his sister’s umbrella this morning, he opened the pink umbrella before he stepped out from beneath the eaves of the school building.

  
Many clustered groups were walking out the gates, some complaining, some chatting happily amongst themselves. Craig was not one of the people shielded by the cloud of colourful canopies. Clyde scanned the area but couldn’t find the familiar figure he was searching for.

  
“Craig?” Splattering water everywhere as he ran through the puddles, he yelled at the top of his lungs. “CRAIG! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

  
“Yo.”

  
He tracked the voice to find Craig just outside of the gates, his back leaning against the rows of rust-coloured bricks that constructed the wall wrapping around the school.

  
Craig’s clothing appeared a few shades darker due to all the water they absorbed, thoroughly drenched, and raindrops dripped down the stray strands of black hair that peeked through his hat.

  
“Wh-what were you thinking?” instead of apologizing for being late, Clyde found himself outraged at Craig’s devil-may-care attitude towards his own well being. “You could have just waited under the roof, or at least put up an umbrella! Are you _trying_ to catch a cold??!”

  
Craig gave him the Tucker look, which translated to “fuck off”. The boy then turned on his heels and began walking away. “Let's get going already.”

  
“Wait,” Clyde placed a hand on the shoulder of Craig’s rat grey hoodie and pulled his friend in under his umbrella. He deliberately left his hand there, unwilling to let go. “Okay, let’s hurry to my place so I can grab you a change of clothes.”

  
“It doesn't matter,” Craig said with a distant look, his face expressionless. “I’m out of fucks to give.” Clyde half expected Craig to force his way back out in the rain to prove his point, but Craig stayed obediently by Clyde's side, a wet shoulder bumping into a perfectly dry one constantly. Not that Clyde minded. Mud squelched beneath their feet as they made their way home.

  
“Oh yeah,” the brunette broke the silence as he recalled what occurred during class. “Do you wanna go to Stan’s place?”

  
“What. No. Marsh should go fuck himself.”

  
Craig’s candid reply caused an impossibly wide grin to creep up Clyde's face, along with an internal sigh of relief. _Thank tacos Craig wasn't interested in the douche._ “I agree, but I meant for Butter’s birthday party. According to Wendy they’re throwing a big one tonight at 9, so we could sneak in and steal some food and booze.”

  
“Heh.” He caught a glimpse of his friend’s smile, a rare expression for the raven haired boy to wear. These moments of happiness from Craig were contagious. “Maybe. Checking out the mysterious gift takes priority though.”

  
Clyde nodded. “By the way, did you confirm with Tweek to , uh, make sure it wasn't his gift to you?” he added sheepishly. He still kind of thought that his suspicions were on the money, not that he didn't believe Craig's words…

  
“It wasn't him,” Craig confirmed, shivering and unconsciously leaning closer into Clyde’s side for warmth as a gust of wind blew in their direction.

Clyde prayed for the wind to never stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the wait. Next part has already been written, but I want to polish it a little. Get ready, sin is just a chapter away ;)


	5. Taste Of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Smut alert**Smut alert* If you're under 18 mentally or is uncomfortable with explicit content please turn back now :3
> 
> Who's still here? Well, go grab some popcorn and enjoy the show!

Although Clyde had insisted on Craig changing into drier clothes before the investigation, his friend went straight past him and stormed upstairs as soon as they reached Clyde’s house. When he arrived at his room, Craig had taken off his hat and was sitting at Clyde’s desk, inspecting the item in question.

It was a small box wrapped in sky blue paper with a thin, golden ribbon that tied everything nicely together. Attached to the ribbon was a folded and hole punched card, on which line after line of familiar handwriting were written. He was so sure it was Tweek’s back then.

“Where’s your hat?” the brunette thought aloud, gaining his friend’s attention.

“Left it in the washing machine.” replied Craig, eyes still glued to the box.

“Cool.” Now if only the rest of Craig’s outfit could go in the washing machine too. He played with the idea of telling his dad that an alligator came for a swim when he returned from work, considering how much the man would freak out seeing the trails of water in his house, which didn't seem to be evaporating anytime soon.

Drip. Drop.

“Do you want something to drink?” Clyde asked, more acutely aware by the second that Craig was in his room and they had the house to themselves. His sister had moved to Boston when he was still in middle school, his dad was out on a company trip for his shoe business, and his mom…

He cut his thought short. No need to cry over spilt milk.

“Maybe later.”

“Don't blame me if you die of thirst.” He hoped his pulse would shut up soon since he could barely hear his own voice over his obnoxious heartbeat.

“What part of this made you think the gift was meant for me?” Craig changed the topic, flipping the card over to show more writing on its back. Writing that Clyde had previously missed. “It clearly states here the receiver is Butters Stotch.”

“Woah, there was a backside to that?”

Craig spun the chair around to face Clyde. “Amazing.”

“I really didn't see that!” Clyde protested. There was no way he would admit that he had been too busy sulking about Tweek and Craig’s inseparable relationship to closely examine the gift.

“Still, even without the name, how could you ever compare the person described on this card to me?” Clyde watched Craig read through the message on the card swiftly.

“Why not?” The water dripped from Craig’s hoodie onto Clyde’s carpet.

Drip. Drop.

Everything was overflowing from Clyde’s heart and he was slowly drowning-- the collection of water from Craig’s body seemingly gathering up into an ocean that filled his room. He was floating in his tank, struggling to breathe.

Craig was everywhere.

“I’m nowhere close to the person in this card,” Craig’s bright blue eyes were downcast and his voice barely above a whisper. “I'm not an ‘angel’, I'm not ‘special’. I’m just a fucking failure who couldn't even fix the one thing that mattered.”

“You’re special to me,” Clyde confessed, unable to keep his emotions in check any longer. He instantly regretted everything. _What if Craig’s disgusted? Why'd I have to be greedy and ruin our friendship?_

Craig raised his head to stare at Clyde but didn't speak, so Clyde continued, voice breaking slightly as he did. Might as well go to point of no return at this point. “I always thought I was so lucky to get to be best friends with someone as cool as you.”

“...I’m just good at pretending not to care.”

“I don't care if it’s an act!!” exclaimed Clyde, pulling Craig in for an impossibly tight embrace. “ I know this sounds cheesy as hell, but I mean it. The fact is, you’re cool to me no matter what you do, so don't bottle everything up by yourself. I like you a bit too much to bear with watching you drive yourself into a corner.”

He didn’t quite understand why Craig looked so fragile today, but he had a feeling it was futile to ask.

“.....that speech was far too mushy.” Clyde felt a wetness spreading on his chest where Craig’s face was buried, although he was unsure if it was from the rain or from the raven haired boy’s quiet tears. “It gave me goosebumps all over.”

“Pretty sure that's from being cold... serves you right for staying out in the rain. Go take a shower,” Clyde teased, hands that were rubbing gentle circles on Craig’s lower back retracting, releasing Craig from his bear hug.

“Which way was it? Guide me.” Craig's eyes appeared slightly swollen, but Clyde made no comments on the matter.

The brunette waited until Craig got up from his desk and lead the way to the bathroom. He twisted the knob and the door swung open. They walked in with Craig trailing behind him.

“Just leave your clothes by the sink and I’ll leave the clean cl---” Clyde didn't have the opportunity to finish his sentence, as Craig kicked the door close behind them, grabbed him by the collar of his varsity jacket and smashed their lips together.

Clyde's mind raced, happiness, shock, doubt, all merging into one mess. The kiss was so desperate and rough, as if Craig was breathing him in to stay alive. Once he came back to his senses, he slid in a hand behind Craig’s ear to comb though the fine dark strands, reciprocating the kiss. He had imagined this scene over and over in his daydreams, but the fantasies had always lacked realism. Craig’s chapped lips tasted like oranges against Clyde's, a reminder that _this_ was real. It was a taste he could get addicted to.

After Craig ran out of breath he pulled away, but Clyde followed and closed the gap between their lips once more, still unsatisfied. He pushed forward and Craig stumbled back, until the brunette was essentially pressing the other into the wall with his kisses.

“Wait, Clyd--” said Craig breathlessly, arms flailing as he struggled to put some distance between them, hitting a tap in the process. _Clink_.

Out of the blues, water came raining down from the shower head above, and their damp clothes became translucent, stuck to them like droopy layers of uncomfortable skin.

“Fantastic.” hearing the sarcasm in Craig’s comment, Clyde can’t help but smile against the other’s lips. In turn, he felt Craig’s more subtle smile on his.

Clyde separated just enough to speak. “Guess we're ending up with taking a shower together, huh?”

Craig shook his head. “Why do I play along with your shit every time?”

“Uh,” Clyde removed his hands from the other’s hair and slammed them against the wall on either side of Craig, smirking, “because you like me?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d like that. How about you make me shut up if I annoy you that much?”

“You asked for it.” Craig’s blue irises glowed with a mischievous glint as he lifted his hoodie above his head, tossing it on the ground outside of the shower stall. Before Clyde could even take a good look at the newly exposed skin, he sensed a hand trailing down his stomach to the hem of his pants, tugging. Since long ago, he had always thought that Craig’s fingers were impossibly pretty: long and slender compared to his own rounded and shorter digits. Back then, he would never have predicted that the same beautiful fingers would be dipping into his pants teasingly in the present.

Never did he believe that his unrequited love could bear fruit, having long accepted the sting of jealousy each time someone approached Craig. But here they were, drenched and desperately clutching at one another and despite everything that was still wrong in the overall world, Clyde’s world in the moment composed of Craig and Craig alone.

He made a mental note to remember the 10 bucks he now owned Token—- money that he was more than happy to give considering how giddy he was from losing the bet. Life had betrayed his expectations in the best way possible.

The shower head remained on, hot water running down their backs. Clyde gulped, watching as Craig lowered himself, kneeling on the tiled floor. The brunette moaned when Craig wrapped his fingers firmly around Clyde's cock, and without any warning, the taller boy swallowed it in one go. A string of unintelligible words escaped Clyde, head falling back in pleasure as the warmth of the other’s mouth engulfed him. Did Craig not have gag reflexes? With his mind muddled, he instinctively raked a hand through Craig's hair and bucked his hips, earning a surprised cough from the raven haired boy as he choked a little. Learning from his mistake, Craig immediately grabbed Clyde’s hips and pushed back, keeping them steady in place as Craig looked up to observe how Clyde squirmed at the torturously slow pace his friend was going at, seemingly savoring every whimper he got out of the brunette. Clyde wanted to question how Craig was so experienced in giving head, but all coherent thoughts evaporated the moment Craig's lips left briefly only to return to swallow him in deeper until he could feel his dick hitting the back of Craig’s throat.

“Fuck!” Clyde cried out, back arched and spilling into Craig’s mouth. As the high from his orgasm was beginning to dim, he extended an arm and pulled the taller boy up. “My bad, didn't mean to come in your mou--” he began, but was flabbergasted when instead of spitting and cleaning out his mouth, Craig nonchalantly swallowed.

“I don't mind,” said Craig, wiping what drizzled down his chin with the back of his hand, a flash of pink as he licked his parted lips. Over the mask of indifference, his blue eyes were glazed over with lust. _Goddamnit_. Clyde was falling in love all over again.

“Stop being so fucking sexy,” he growled, rushing back in to claim Craig’s bruised lips once more. It didn't take much coercion for Craig to give in to his eagerness, both of them acting on their urges at this point. Their kiss deepened quickly, and Clyde could taste himself on the other’s tongue, which should gross him out in theory but ended up being a huge turn-on. He never wanted to stop kissing Craig.

However, he willed himself to break contact, remembering the weight of his soaked through clothes, excluding his pants which had joined the rat grey hoodie outside the shower.

“This is lovely and all, but I think we need to take these off and wash properly so we don't come down with a fever tomorrow.” said the brunette while peeling a part of his wet jacket off his body. if Clyde didn't know better he’d think that Craig almost looked disappointed. Or maybe he just hoped the other felt as disappointed as he did. “Although lying in bed sick with you doesn't sound half-bad.”

Craig elbowed the brunette’s stomach. “Stop talking and start washing.”

“Okay, okay, milord, your wish is my command.” The sound of clothes plopping onto the ground echoed in the bathroom.

“Call me milord one more time and I’ll email your dad all the drunk selfies you took from Stick of Truth days.”

“Can’t a man grief over the utter failure of his evil overlord plan? Cut me some slack, assassin.” Clyde shaked the shampoo until its content fell into his waiting hand, and passed the container to Craig, who squeezed it directly onto the top of his head.

“Not if said man finished the only quality liqueur from my parents’ collection and clustered my phone with stupid pictures until I ran out of storage. 400 of those photos were just close-up blurs of your feet.” Craig scratched and rubbed at his scalp, iridescent bubbles foaming in his hair.

“Those were good days.” Clyde wondered where he had stored his dark lord costume, a heap of junk if not for its sentimental value. It was the first time that Craig had called him cool wearing anything, which was all it took for the 10 year old Clyde to decide to keep the ridiculous outfit for life.

“Yeah,” spoke Craig, rinsing out his hair under the stream of water, “they were.”

* * *

 

  
Everything was pitch black. Clyde wandered around, feeling out his surroundings. Or he would have, if he was able to move. He tried to think, but his brain felt rusted.

Like a movie, he had no say in the script so he merely watched as the scene played before his eyes. A friend, fuzzy around the edges of his existence, ran towards him. The boy with the blurred face was shouting something at Clyde, which Clyde noted absently. What was he saying?

“ **Give** ……”

As the boy ran closer, rather than becoming clearer in identity, his figure shifted unnaturally: his image stretched out vertically and his voice turned higher in pitch.

A manicured hand woke Clyde from his stupor. His eyes widened, baffled by what he was seeing. “Mom??”

The figure identical to Betsy Donovan lifted him by the neck with monstrous strength, baring its sharp fangs. **“GIVE IT BACK!!!”** It screamed into the brunette’s ear maniacally.

“I don't ...know....” Clyde's vision was hazy as the grip around his neck tightened and cut off the airflow in his windpipe.“w..hat...you're ta...l….kin.g a.b...ou.t…”

**“You’ll pay for what you’ve done, Clyde Donovan.”**

* * *

 

  
The brunette jolted up in his bed, sweating bullets. A sleepy Craig lying by his side in purple spaceship pajamas turned with a rustling of sheets to face Clyde. “What’s wrong?”

Too shaken by his nightmare to answer immediately, Clyde scooted off the bed and onto his feet. He wobbled to his closet and pulled on a letterman jacket and faded jeans. “I need to go.”

“Go where? You're in your own house,” Craig grabbed the bedside alarm and squinted at it. “Plus, It’s 4am, dude. There’s nowhere to go.”

“I don't know!!! I just need some fresh air to clear things off my mind. Be back in a bit.”

“What the hell, Clyde! Wait!”

He didn't wait.

“CLYDE!”

Clyde stumbled down the flight of stairs and bursted out the front entrance, breath hitching. Dream or not, his mother had tried to kill him. _That’s right._ He reminded himself. He didn't deserve such happiness in the first place.

“CLYDE!!” Craig cried, following him out the house, grasping at air as Clyde ran ahead, dodging his hands. Seeing the promise of cover ahead, Clyde dashed towards the forest, wanting to be left alone.

“NO!! STOP RUNNING!!!”

 _ **BANG**_.

A shot fired in the distance. Then another, and another. Clyde felt a piercing pain in his side, a bullet caught in his upper arm.

“Ned, we caught a big one this time, judging by the sound of it!”

“All that camping was worth it. It’s coming straight for us.”

Before thinking about the consequences, he turned automatically to the voices and was bombarded with shells that phased through his flesh and embedded themselves in his internal organs. In a split second, the world turned upside down as Clyde fell on the dirt path. All leaves were painted black in the scarce moonlight, the inky liquid on them pooling under him and contaminating his surroundings.

Through the brunette’s tunneling vision, he made out the image of Craig rushing to his side and pushing down on his chest in an attempt to obstruct the blood flow from his wounds. As hilarious as it was for Mosquito to die from blood loss, when he opened his mouth to laugh, no sounds came out. Neither could he hear the raven haired boy’s desperate wailing.

Before his senses dissolved to nothingness, he held Craig's bloody hand in his and pressed a final kiss to the boy's palm.

  
_I’m so sorry._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... The shit show ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	6. Stick And Stones Will Break My Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy GroundHog Day!!  
> (Sorta)
> 
> I haven't checked for typos cause I was trying to update the fic in time for the occasion, so lemme know if there's any mistakes!

“NOO!!”

 

But the day had already moved on.

 

The _SAME_ fucking alarm.

 

Craig hurled the small mobile device across the room. The phone slammed against the wall and crumbled to the floor, its screen glitching out with flashing pixels. Out of breath and hesitant to confirm, the teen brought a trembling hand to his face. Ghosts of tears still streaked his cheeks and his throat felt scratchy and hoarse. From yelling that never happened in this day. His sensations being the only reminder that what occurred _did_ truly occur.

 

With every blink, in popped another memory. Why? When they were finally getting somewhere in this mystery; when he finally confronted his best friend about his feelings and they were so happy in the moment--- _Why_?

 

“Clyde..”

 

Hands gripped his blanket tighter as he curled in on himself. Maybe if his bones weren't so long, maybe if he hugged his knees tight enough, maybe if he could fold himself over and over like paper that turned infinitely smaller, maybe he could make himself disappear. He screamed, until the noise amplified and extended to every corner of his mind, muting all intrusive thoughts.

 

Some time after Craig had nearly lost his voice and buried himself under his blanket, there was a quiet knock at the door.

 

“Bro? Where's breakfast?” asked a bored nasally voice identical to his own, taught by the master of cynicism himself. He stayed silent, hoping the girl would leave, but to no avail. Soon, there was another knock, then another, until it just became obnoxious pounding on the door.

 

He heard a huff on the other side. “Come on, I know you're in there.”

 

“Go away.” the boy stated, more nasally than usual thanks to the overexertion of his larynx. Tricia probably already heard him wailing and he was in no mood to explain.

 

“Did someone break our fuckboi’s sensitive little heart?”

 

Under any other circumstances Craig would have bit back with his own caustic remark, but right now he couldn't appreciate his sister’s sense of humor. “Fuck off.”

 

“What's wrong with you today? Can't take a joke? Not to mention no pancakes and the plant’s unwatered. Aren't you normally pretty punctual?”

 

Craig covered his ears and turned on his bed until his back was to the door. He's scared shitless by the fact that he needed to face what's out there. Twice was more than enough. If he holed up in his room, he won't witness the deaths; he’ll just wake up naturally next morning. He could almost pretend that everything was back to the way it was. Pretend that he wasn't doing nothing everyday as he just let Clyde die by himself, over and over and over andoverand--

 

“Sorry, I take it back. It's none of my business. I’ll tell Tweek to go on without you when I head out.” the words diminished in volume and Craig could nearly see the way Tricia lowered her head guiltily by her speech. After a few footsteps that became increasingly distant, he heard his sister stop in her tracks. A pause. “I’m on your side, just remember that.”

* * *

 

Clyde was rescuing his half-eaten turkey sandwich from under Token’s hand, who was laughing to the point of tears and hitting the table in response to Jimmy’s political joke, when he saw the blonde sit down opposite to him through his peripheral vision.

  
Tweek was alone and that was wrong, _so wrong_. There was a subtle yet distinct slouch in the boy’s posture and the blonde was extremely anxious, if the teeth grinding were anything to go by.

 

“Where is he?” he almost felt bad for asking, for Tweek flinched and his head snapped to attention so quickly that Clyde was worried the boy would suffer from whiplash. Token and Jimmy conversed loudly in the background, oblivious to their friends’ quiet exchange.

 

When the blonde didn't reply immediately, he too, grew anxious.

 

They both knew Craig’s situation well enough to realize how rare it was for the raven haired boy to be absent. Not because Craig was particularly fond of the education system, but rather because Thomas Tucker would beat him senseless if the man found out his son was skipping. Craig’s dad had took a turn for the worse after his divorce with Laura and was now never home before 6am, instead choosing to spend his time loitering at bars and juggling jobs as an excuse to abandon parental responsibilities. Although Clyde guessed the man had no other choice since the Tuckers were almost the poorest family in town.

 

When Craig had sat waiting on his doorsteps the first night after the divorce, shivering under the gleaming twilight in his black space-nerd t-shirt and staring into the distance with intentionally emotionless eyes, Clyde knew better than to believe his best friend's facade. He had cried that night more than any other day of his life. He had shed the tears knowing that Craig couldn't. _Wouldn't_. Clyde recalled sadly that he had made a vow that night to keep Craig company, and had invited himself over to Craig's nearly everyday since middle school for this precise reason.

 

“Tricia said..ack! That….Craig wasn't feeling so well,” Tweek said, pulling harshly at his incorrectly buttoned shirt until the thread keeping a button in place gave way and it popped off. “so I’m probably going to check on him after school.”

 

“Lemme go with you then, we don't have practice today so I can meet you at four and we can walk together!” the brunette kept his tone light-hearted, despite being anything but peppy. Was Craig really really sick? Although there were people who faked their illness, Craig had never been one of them. What if it’s not just a cold, but rather some kind of chronic disease? He shook his head.

 

_Everything's alright. Everything's alright._

 

Clyde repeated his mantra countless times to himself until he managed to convinced himself that everything was indeed alright.

  
He just needed to see for himself to make sure that Craig was fine.

 

He looked back to find Tweek looking at him---or was it something behind him?---strangely, eventually relaxing into a small smile. “Yeah, ok! I had something to talk to you about anyways.”

 

Clyde blinked rapidly in surprise. “You do?”

 

“I-I’ll tell you later.”

 

Token turned from Jimmy to partake in their conversation. “Hey, what have you guys been chatting about?”

 

“Y-ya,”Jimmy stammered, looking at Tweek expectantly, “w-wh----Wha-a---whaa-what’s u--up, dog?”

 

“Uhm, Craig is--Auggggh--sick so Clyde and I are walking over later to pay him a visit.”

 

“Oh man, feels bad. Should we join you guys too?” Token’s eyebrows furrowed. “I can cancel my piano lesson.”

 

“Same, I can t-t---tell the folks that the Jimmy Valmer show is gonna be delayed by a day.”

 

“Nah, it’s okay!” Clyde cut in before Tweek could even open his mouth to respond. “If all of us went it’d just be overcrowding the place, plus Craig would probably just end up kicking us out for some of his favorite ‘peace and quiet’.” He didn't want anyone else to see Craig at his most vulnerable. Clyde wanted to monopolize Craig’s pain.

 

It was already upsetting that Tweek was going with him.

 

“If you say so,” Token cocked a brow and shrugged, “Let him know we said hi.”

 

“We will.” the brunette caught Tweek looking at him again with the same odd expression. Was his B.O. that bad? He stopped himself before he started sniffing his shirt to make sure. 

  
Oh well, he’ll just have to be patient and find out later.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. And Your Words Will Always Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ready or not, here goes Wonder Tweek!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the update took so long! School is still hell haha. As a trade off for how long you guys needed to wait, here’s a longer chapter.  
> Enjoy~

With one foot tapping compulsively, the blonde checked over his shoulder for the 20th time in that minute.

 

Still no Clyde Donovan walking out through the school entrance.

 

“When is he—why-aghh!!” He really didn’t need another thing that contributed to his perpetual stress.

 

A group of girls passed by, giggling and snickering, and he was suddenly self conscious of how suspicious he must seem: shifty eyed, camping in one spot, and talking to himself. His wild mess of hair that made him look like he was either a homeless guy or a mad scientist didn't help either. He retracted back to his snug little corner by the gate, hiding himself further back into the shadows cast by the brick walls. Out of habit, his hand went to his green shirt to tug at one of his buttons, but found nothing. Only then did he remember that he had already pulled the poor thing off earlier.

 

Since Craig wasn’t with him, he had been on edge the entire day. It doesn’t help that Tricia had stopped him from seeing the other boy this morning, telling him that her brother was acting odd and probably needed time to himself. ‘A lot of time to himself’, as she had made sure to emphasize. He hoped that visiting after school counted as giving the other enough alone time, since he was not waiting any longer, or all his imagined worst-case scenarios would certainly haunt him and drive him insane.

 

“Yo!!!” A shadow jumped in front of him.

 

“AAAGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Tweek let out a shrill cry and sent his right fist flying, missing the jock’s hazel eyes by a hair.

 

“Holy crap dude!” exclaimed Clyde, hands held up in surrender and stumbling back a few steps. “Chill, it’s just me.”

 

“Don’t...ever,” wheezed Tweek, all air emptied from his lungs, “do that—AaAgh—again!!!” Whenever his anxiety was especially bad his ticks also came back at full force. He hated it.

 

“Sorry.” said Clyde, looking like a kicked puppy with sad droopy ears. That wasn’t fair, and no matter how genuinely sorry the boy was, part of Tweek wanted to despise him for it. But of course he didn't.

 

He sighed. Calm down. “It’s fine, just don’t scare me again or else I can’t guarantee your safety.”

 

They started walking away from the school, with Tweek on the inside of the sidewalk and Clyde on the side closest to the road.

 

“So,” Clyde proceeded gingerly, likely still a bit disoriented from nearly being knocked unconscious, “what did you want to talk about?”

 

He knew that the brunette would have found this idea odd, especially since they rarely conversed alone. All this time Craig had served as the bridge to their communication, and without the said teen’s mediation, all attempts at talking between Clyde and Tweek had been … awkward at best. There was this unspoken barrier between the two, as both held a irreplaceable place in the raven-haired boy’s life—-one as his best friend and the other as his boyfriend—-which in turn created a rivalry-like tension that dominated their relationship.

 

Or at least that’s what he had deduced to be true of Clyde. Tweek felt no animosity for the other, and if not for the rather obvious looks Clyde would send his way whenever he acted intimately with Craig, he would have assumed the same for the brunette.

 

It’s about time he straightened this out.

 

“You're in love with Craig.” the question comes out as a statement, because it essentially is one.

 

The blonde heard a sound between gagging and coughing. He turned to see Clyde… a little green in the face. If Tweek was waiting for a confirmation before, he definitely didn’t need one now.

 

“No way-How’d you-I mean—he’s my best—-I!!” The brunette’s wide eyes settled on Tweek’s face and there must have been something telling in the blonde’s expression in that moment, because the jock shut his mouth instead of defending his public image any further. Tweek could see the tensing of his muscles as he clenched his jaw and hung his head in defeat. “...I’m sorry.”

 

“I thought so.” It felt good to have something be certain in his life. There was something else that made him concerned about the brunette though.

 

“Craig doesn’t know.” Clyde replied immediately. “You know he would never cheat on you. You don’t have to worry about me either, since he already treats me as if I’m invisible half the time. As soon as we graduate you lovebirds won’t have to cross paths with me ever again.” The brunette opened his mouth to speak, then tried again when his voice failed him, choking out his last sentence. “So don’t blame Craig. If you guys broke up because of me I would—”

 

“Maybe it's time.”

 

“Huh?” Clyde finally looked up, confused eyes shimmering at the edges, searching for an explanation. “What’s time?”

 

Tweek closed his eyes for an extended moment and dwelled on the strange shape and colors dancing upon his eyelids. He reopened them. “Time for us to break up.”

 

Clyde's horrified look intensified. “NO Nono no no--”

 

The blonde noticed that they had stopped on the sidewalk and was about to be blocking a few pedestrians heading their way, so he resumed walking and watched out of the corner of his eyes as Clyde caught up with his strides easily.

 

“You're not at fault here, Clyde,” Tweek spoke softly, holding out an arm to stop the other from stepping onto the road as the light turned red. “The whole town wanted Craig and I to be something we weren't. _They_ may have forgotten how they bent us as they pleased to fit the mold of their ideal relationship, breaking our figurative limbs until we had no option other than leaning on one another. But we haven't.”

 

He waited a beat. Taking Clyde’s silence as a sign to continue, he gathered his non-linear thoughts, stringing together the sparks of ideas and comments scattered throughout. “I’ve always admired Craig, since he was everything I was not, and we understood each other to the point of near telepathy after suffering through the aftermath of the Asian girls’ fleeting fancy for match-making.”

 

“Does that mean you were just… faking it? To what extent was it an act?” questioned Clyde, the disbelief in his eyes nearly as tangible as the poorly concealed relief in his tone. “All the kissing and hugging and hand-holding, was it all to fit the role of the perfect boyfriend for Craig?”

 

Tweek pursed his lips, struggling to find the words that would best describe his current feelings. “Don't get me wrong, dude. I love Craig.” He saw the hopeful expression fall from his friend’s face in a flash. “But I also love you a lot, Clyde, and I don't want to lose either of you guys, no matter what you think _I think_ of you.” He kept his hands shoved inside to his pockets to prevent himself from fidgeting with his shirt. “This is the only way I can get what I want.”

 

The traffic lights turned green and they started crossing the street, Craig’s house visible on the distant horizon.

 

“I still feel like a dick.” said Clyde, kicking a large pebble with so much force that it flew into the stop sign up ahead, the crisp ringing of metal resonating from the red hexagon as the two collided. “You need him.”

 

“Oh-- to hell with that!! People think I'm attached to Craig the way a parasite attaches to a host!!” the blonde’s uncontainable hands escaped his pockets to pull at his hair, once again. “And the worst part is that I know that they're right. I can't grow as an individual if I keep hanging onto him. So stop thinking that everything is your fault and **just accept** the fact that I’m letting go of him!!!”

 

By the time he realized it, he was already yelling. He saw that Clyde was speechless and to be truthful, so was he about his unusual behavior. Tweek couldn’t remember the last time he was able to express his opinions with such confidence. Despite dreading the uncertainty of his future that would follow the break up, there was a distinct lightness to his breath now, like a weight has been taken off his chest.

 

The rest of their trip was best described as uncomfortably silent, as Tweek fidgeted with whatever he could, becoming increasingly unsettled by the lack of response from the brunette, his momentary confidence chipping away with every second.

 

The blonde was started to believe that Clyde would remain mute for the rest of their time together. When they finally arrived at their destination, he visibly jumped as the other spoke in a voice that strained to keep the jock’s jumble of emotions from being overly apparent. “...Thanks, Tweek.”

 

To that, he gave no reply except the smallest of nods. Somehow he suspected any verbal response ran the risk of causing the brunette to burst into tears. After the ten or so years Tweek had known Clyde, this was the first heart-to-heart conversation they had ever had. He felt like he understood Clyde a little better.

 

He stepped onto the familiar doormat and rang the doorbell. The door creaked open.

* * *

  
“Ok.”

 

“Huh?” Although Tweek was the one who suggested the break up, he didn’t expect everything to go so smoothly.

 

He expected that Craig would refuse to see him since his boyfriend had locked himself in his bedroom the moment after he opened the door for the two, but the raven-haired boy had easily allowed him to enter. Clyde, on the other hand, had no such luck and was likely still sulking on the living room sofa, waiting on Tweek to convince his boyfriend to stop being an ‘unreasonable prick’ and to get out of his room.

 

He also expected them to be arguing when he proposed to end their codependent relationship, but Craig had just accepted it without any questions. Having mentally prepared for only their banter, Tweek didn’t know what to say to this outcome.

 

“Don’t you want to know why?” He sat at the foot of the bed, wondering why Craig’s eyes appeared to be bloodshot. His gaze kept drifting to the broken phone on the ground, but his curiosity for the other’s apathy overrode his curiosity for the damaged object.

 

“No.” said Craig, reaching into his bedside drawer and pulling out his pack of cigarettes. “If you feel that this is for the best, then I believe you.”

 

“We’ll… still keep in touch, right?”

 

Craig let out a dry laugh, tapping the cigarette out of the small package and holding it between his fingers. “What the hell are you on, Tweek. We’re friends, so of course we’ll hang out.”

 

The boy held out the package to Tweek, who shook his head. Craig offered him a cigarette every time despite knowing that Tweek wouldn’t take it. It was more of Craig’s unique way of showing that he cared about the blonde than the actual functionality of the gesture.

 

It was odd how the teen had found the pack sitting on his desk one day, neither him nor Tweek having a clue as to where the damned thing came from. From that day onwards, Craig would always take a cigarette out and place it between his lips whenever he was feeling down, but never smoking it. Tweek had confronted him on this habit since he knew that contrary to the rumors at school, Craig never smoked. The raven haired boy explained that the cigarettes felt like a memento.

 

Tweek felt the edges of his lips lift into a smile as his brain slowly caught up to the present. It was over and he would get to keep the two people most important to him at his side. “Are you ready to see Clyde? Let’s get out of your room.”

 

Craig’s expression darkened instantly. “... Tell him to come in.”

 

Tweek got up on his feet and pulled the door open, immediately greeted by Clyde falling into the room, his back hitting the carpet. The brunette really needed to work on the art of eavesdropping _subtly_.

 

Clyde gave his best friend a sheepish upside down grin. “Hey, it’s been a while. You look like shit.”

 

“So do you. Wait,” Craig deadpanned, one hand presumably patting his pockets down for a lighter, except he didn’t own one. Matches, on the other hand, he did. “nevermind. Forgot you always looked like that.”

 

“Judging by the fact that you still have the energy to roast me, you must not be that sick.” The jock rolled himself onto his stomach and stood up, walking to where Craig was on the bed and plopped down beside him. Tweek watched as Clyde reached inside and magically produced a lighter from his varsity jacket, tossing it to Craig, who catched the object one-handedly.

 

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

 

“Didn’t know you did either. I don’t. It’s Bebe’s.”

 

Tweek joined them on the bed, sitting to the left of Craig. “Clyde, he doesn’t sm—-”

 

“Thanks,” he was shocked to see Craig nonchalantly lighting the cancer stick, choking and coughing as soon as he inhaled, tearing up at the corners of his icy blue eyes. Tweek thought he saw that the tears were there before the teen even smoked, but he kept this to himself.

 

“So uncool, man. You’re acting like it’s your first time smoking or something.” Little did Clyde know that his jest was actually the truth of the situation, but Craig didn’t speak a word to confirm it, so Tweek followed suit and remained quiet.

 

They stayed that way for a while, Tweek occasionally glancing over Craig to observe the mesmerized way Clyde’s gaze traced the raven-haired boy’s lips, as gentle smoke tendrils curled and wandered upwards until they disappeared entirely. He felt his face heat up and looked away. It was too intimate of an expression for it not be intrusive for him to see it.

* * *

 

 

“Let’s go crash Stan’s party.” Craig’s voice brought them out of their relaxed trance.

 

“Did you hear about it from Wendy too?” asked Clyde, staring at a part of the ceiling where the paint was chipping off.

 

The three of them were spread across the mattress, lying on their backs. The scent of tobacco permeated the room and the snuffed out butt was tossed into the ashtray that Craig had secretly stolen from his dad’s room.

 

“Something like that,” Craig propped himself up and walked over to the closet, selecting a jacket at random and draping it over his shoulders like a cloak. “you guys coming or what?”

 

“I can’t miss out on partying when even the loner’s going!” Clyde laughed, getting to his feet and pulling Tweek up with him.

 

“Sorry, I have a late shift today, so I need to head back to the café.” said Tweek, trying not to sound bitter about his busy schedule that didn’t allow him enough free time to spend with his friends. He was still chained to his parents’ coffee shop, slaving away day and night at minimum wage.

 

“Darn, next time then.” the blonde stood frozen for a second as Clyde pulled him into a friendly hug, unused to the affection from his friend. He remembered to hug back.

 

As Clyde let go, Craig moved in, leaning down to presumably kiss the blonde before recalling their talk earlier, instead settling on placing a hand on the shorter boy’s shoulder. “Get home safe.”

 

“I will.”

 

Tweek followed after Clyde and Craig out of the house, waving goodbye to the two as they went their separate ways.

 

Before he took his first step homewards, he stopped and turned to peek at the ominous shadow that had been looming over Clyde’s person one last time, before he convinced himself that he was too old to still believe in this supernatural shit. Underpants gnomes weren’t real, and neither was this anomalously eerie aura that haunted the jock which he was seeing right now.

 

He hummed to himself, the image of the back view of his friends warmly tinted by the sunset was lingering on his mind as he walked home.

 

 

 


	8. Heroes Save Nothing But Their Ego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, don't know if any of you guys are still keeping up with this. Here is the labor of an exam-ridden student who decided to slack off till 5 am. Hope you guys enjoy the ride ^^

“You’re sure this is the place, right.”

 

After seeing Clyde’s nod of confirmation, Craig couldn't help but gawk at the mansion that seemed to have spurred from the ground out of nowhere. Although it made sense that, as the raven haired boy grew up, he wouldn't have ventured outdoors to explore his neighborhoods as much as he did as a child, having a building in South Park that he’s never seen before was still a bizarre notion to him. As far as he recalled, the only rich kid in town was Token.

 

The “house”---if he were to humbly describe it that way--- stood at least 4 stories tall and was as wide as the Black’s residence. The two red oak wood doors that composed the front entrance loomed over him, their heights matching the rest of the mansion. A magnificent fanlight shone above them, the glamorous mosaic, currently dulled by the lack of sunlight, were dormant gems that were waiting to show off their beauty.

 

Craig turned to his friend and pointed incredulously. “You're telling me _this_ is Marsh’s place.”

 

The brunette shrugged, seeming genuinely confused about Craig's confusion.

 

Amidst Craig’s internal turmoil, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, Clyde pressed the doorbell.

 

“Oh!” exclaimed Clyde a moment later, with the expression of someone who had just solved a satisfying puzzle. “I keep forgetting that you don't pay attention to all the gossip at school.”

 

“I’m glad I don't, unlike some idiot I know. It’s a fucking waste of time.” He allowed himself a small smile of victory as Clyde pouted. _Teasing your best friend should be made into an Olympics sport._

 

“Well, that idiot happens to know more than his smartass buddy here, so--- not so smart now, are we?” Clyde paused momentarily to cover a deliberate cough with his fist. “Ahem! So do you remember Stan’s dad, Randy Marsh?”

 

“What about h---” Craig realized mid-speech, connecting the dots together. “Oh. That makes sense. Lorde.”

 

“C-O-RRECT!” said Clyde in his best imitation of a game show announcer voice. “After the whole scandal on stage, Stan’s dad apologized to the masses and went back to what he did best: making quality music. He saved up quite a fortune and after a few years---voila! La maison de Marsh.”

 

“Hmm.” Craig could hear the crescendo of people laughing and stomping even through the door, “That aside, do you think they can hear the doorbell with all that racket?”

 

“Good point, lemme press it ag---” before the jock could finish his phrase, the door swung open and hit him on the forehead. “Ow! F--!!”

 

The one who opened the door was none other than Stan Marsh himself.

 

“Ayyy, good to see you, Clyde, my man!” Craig watched as Stan moved in to give his teammate a brief hug in greeting, after which Clyde immediately returned to rubbing at his forehead and mumbling silent curses. The quarterback then turned to face Craig, eyes widening in shock. “Isn't this a surprise, look who decided to visit! Craig! How have you've been!” He inched forward to greet Craig in the same manner, only to be sidestepped by Craig, who dodged the attempt entirely. “I see you're still no fun, as always. What's wrong with a little hug?”

 

With the light from inside the mansion, Craig finally saw how red Stan’s face was, in addition to the smell...he was sure that Stan was more than a little intoxicated. “Sorry, but I make it a policy not to hug revolting bastards.”

 

“Harsh, haha.” Stan turned his back to them and walked back inside, unblocking the entrance. “Make yourselves at home, fuckers.” He stepped through the door frame and disappeared.

 

* * *

 

 

“So,” Clyde whispered into Craig’s ear, his friend’s breath tickling him. “You still haven't told me.”

 

“Told you what?” Craig took a sip out of his cup, the pink liquid within twirling as he did so.

 

They were sitting on two tall stools in the kitchen “bar” area, which was about two rooms away from the dance floor. There were a couple of others chatting in the same room and grabbing seconds or thirds of seafood lasagna and pumpkin pie from the buffet style dining table, but the majority of people were mingling and dancing in the larger room. Just listening to their yells made Craig wonder how could anyone bear with something so chaotic and enjoy it. Not sober, at least.

 

“The reason why we're here.”

 

“I want to give the party life a try.” He took another sip. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that Stan threw a great party. The spiked fruit punch was simply addictive.

 

Clyde raised an eyebrow at that. “By sitting off to the side and spending the entire time drinking fruit punch?”

 

After maintaining eye contact for a while, Craig resigned. “Ok, it’s because of the gift you got that's for Butters.”

 

“What gift?”

 

“Right. You didn't read the card carefully. The blue gift with the yellow ribbon you found in front of my house.” He observed how quickly the brunette’s face paled, and added before his friend could begin opening his mouth to defend himself. “No, it’s not from Tweek. No, I'm not mad, ok? Anyways, that's for Butters.”

 

Clyde looked at him in amazement. “How do you know all this? Are you psychic? Or...” His hazel eyes became downcast in guilt. “Did you see me take the gift and is just making this stuff up so I don't blame myself for taking your boyfriend’s gift for you?”

 

“First, he’s not my boyfriend as of today. Two, just trust me about this, okay?” Craig felt a pang of sadness as he thought of how he had already gone over this topic with an identical but, experience-wise, different Clyde. Of course, the memories of the dead didn't carry over. Only he retained everything. Every painful detail.

 

“Craig? Dude, you alright?” Clyde's concerned face popped up in front of his, dangerously close.

 

“I-I'm fine. Just keep an eye out for Butters, okay? Bring him to me if you see him, since I need to ask him a few questions.” Perhaps everything he did was just a wild goose chase, perhaps nothing he did will affect the outcome. Even so, Craig couldn't let go. His guess that this gift is involved with the loop was what’s keeping him sane.

 

“Gotcha. Hey, behind you. Not exactly Butters but he looks like he could use some questioning. Or, do some questioning.” Craig’s eyes followed his friend’s gaze to see a red-haired boy burst into the room, emerald eyes scanning around frantically until they landed in Craig and Clyde's general direction.

 

The boy marched towards them with a scary expression, pace quickening with every step.

 

“Here’s to us not being murdered,” mocked Craig as he clanked his cup against Clyde's in a celebratory toast, and downed the entire drink in one shot. The aftertaste hit him hard. _Damn, did someone add vodka to the already spiked punch? Starting to feel it._

 

The boy stopped in front of them, incredibly graceful with every slight movement in his slender build. His blue crop-top hung off his left shoulder as he hurried toward the two, the edge of his black jeans occasionally gliding against the floor. The onlookers who wanted to know what was going on immediately went back to minding their own business when the boy shot them an ice-cold glare.

 

“Clyde, this is perfect. Have you seen Stan?”

 

“Hey Kyle,” Clyde smiled. “Looking nice in that outfit, almost like Stan’s match made in heaven.”

  
  
As they had seen at the doorstep, Stan’s clothes were coordinated to be identical to Kyle’s, with the exception to the length of their shirts. Craig half suspected that Kyle just took one of Stan’s shirts and accidentally cut off too much of the fabric.

 

“Thanks, but, seriously, did you guys see him?” Kyle’s tone was filled with urgency.

 

“Not since he opened the door to let us in.” Craig informed him, frowning. “Did something happen?”

 

“I don't know! We were dancing and everything was fine and he suddenly started screaming ‘This isn't right! This isn't what I wanted!’ and dashed out!! Where could he be?” Kyle kept eye contact with Clyde, refusing to turn to acknowledge Craig. He knew that Kyle and him were like fire and ice and didn't really associate with one another, but still, this was quite rude. Being treated as if he didn't exist irritated Craig. “Clyde, can you help me look for him?”

 

“I guess I---”

 

“We can't.” Craig cut in, grabbing Clyde’s hand off the marble counter and holding it in his. “We were in the middle of a very important talk, so Clyde needs to stay.”

 

Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? Do tell, what is it.”

 

“If you’re so goddamn nosy, Broflovski, fine, stay there.” Craig got off his stool, pulling lightly for Clyde to follow suit. He cupped the jock’s cheeks and spoke softly. “Clyde,” he swallowed nervously due to his impulsive improvisation. “I know I just broke up with Tweek, so this might seem like a rebound...but I’m serious. Will you go out with me?”

 

Within a matter of seconds, he watched as Clyde’s expression shifted from shock to flustered, until the brunette was blushing madly up to his ears.

 

“ What do you say, Clyde?”

 

An ecstatic grin slowly emerged on his best friend’s flushed face. “Yes. Yes! YES!!”

 

“Great.” replied Craig, leaning in to claim Clyde’s lips with a chaste kiss.

 

When he turned his head, several people were applauding, one of which even did a wolf whistle. The place where Kyle occupied was empty, which was what Craig had hoped for. Thankfully he took the hint.

 

Suddenly he felt hands on his shoulder spinning him around, and the sensation of something soft on his lips. Clyde pulled away smiling, glowing, like he was the happiest person in the world. “I was worried when you said you were coming to Stan’s party, and now I’m so glad I tagged along.”

 

“Don't conclude that today’s the best day ever yet. I'm taking you out for tacos for our first date.” Craig smirked, then thought bitterly to himself: _as_ _soon as I resolve the loop, that is._

 

“You’re like high cholesterol---not good for my heart.” To emphasize his point, the brunette took Craig's right hand and placed it on the left side of his chest. He could feel the fast uneven thumps of the jock’s heart like a bird thrashing around to break free.

 

“That's probably the most unromantic analogy I’ve ever heard.” Craig chuckled, retracting his hand.

 

“Then you clearly haven't browsed the internet enough. Believe me, I can do much worse.” retorted Clyde with a wink.

 

* * *

 

 

The boy in the chullo hat sat at the island, head leaning to one side, an arm propped up under his cheek. His expression spoke volumes of boredom.

 

_Where the hell did Clyde go._

 

His...boyfriend(it still felt odd to refer to Clyde that way) excused himself, saying he’ll be back in a matter of minutes. It's been at least 20.

 

“Washroom my ass,” mumbled Craig as he slid off his seat until his feet touched the ground. “Guess I should find out what he’s up to.”

 

The thought of running into Kyle or Stan was the reason why he wanted to leave searching for Clyde as a last resort, but something felt off.

 

_I shouldn't have left him alone in the first place! Don’t I even learn!?_

 

After being squished and pushed around plenty on the cramped dance floor, he was pretty sure Clyde wasn't there. He tapped his ears to make sure the blasting speakers hadn't deafened him, then scurried up the last flight of stairs that lead to the fourth floor.

 

He ran through the corridors, checking all the washrooms. Most were empty, and the few that were locked had someone who swore at him in a voice that didn't belong to his best friend.

 

Just as Craig was about to leave to check the bottom floors, he heard a something similar to the cracking of a whip. No, a clap? It came from a bedroom.

 

He tread carefully and as the muffled voices became louder and clearer, he could finally decipher the words.

 

“-That doesn't explain _anything_ Clyde!!! I thought we were perfect together! Can't we talk things through a bit more? I’m sure we can figure something out.” a shrill voice pleaded. Craig knew that familiar voice, since it was at every football game he went to to cheer on Clyde.

 

“Bebe, I already told you. We’re finished. I’ve liked you while we were together, but I’m sorry. There's someone I’ve liked for a long time---possibly my entire life, and he finally reciprocated my feelings.” Craig peeked in from the side of the door frame. Clyde’s left cheek was covered with a red handprint-shaped welt. They were arguing on the balcony and he have a really ominous premonition.

 

“ _Your_ feelings! _Your_ _fucking_ _feelings_?! What about mine, you bastard!?”

 

Hearing the aggressive shift in the tone, Craig dashed into the room, just as Bebe shoved the jock against the railing in her fit of uncontainable rage.

 

_Squeak. CRACK._

 

As the railing gave way and unattached with the impact, Craig swiftly reached and grabbed Clyde’s arm, pulling the other up from his mid-fall position and switching places using the momentum force.

 

“CRAIG!!! NO!”

 

Everything around him blurred as they sped past, the only constant thing in the raven haired boy’s eyes was Clyde’s tear struck face as his friend clutched at the ground, other hand outreached in a futile attempt at grasping his.

 

He started laughing, the wind smacking against him turning the sound into an odd vibrato. _So this was the solution after all_. Raising a middle finger to the night sky, he took care to look as smug as he could. _Fuck you, mastermind._

 

  
And then everything came to a stop.

 

 _Splat_.

 

* * *

 

 

He opened his eyes groggily to an otherworldly view of black flame blazing among unnaturally crimson earth. His first thought was that _God be damned, my parents were right about hell._

 

It was only as his vision settled did he notice the skeleton throne in front of him and, more importantly, the stunningly beautiful boy sitting atop it. His legs were crossed casually, as if this wasn't a chair made of human remains he was sitting on but rather just your typical bedroom carpet. Dirty-blonde strands stuck out in a curly manner from beneath the hood of his vibrant orange parka, and the light dust of freckles that colored his chiseled face reminded Craig of the stars of the Milky Way. His features were in no way perfect, and as he gave Craig an open-mouthed smile one could even see that a tooth or two were missing, but the boy carried a mysterious charm---one that could easily enchant any mortal being.

 

“I see that you’re getting in my way even now, Tucker.” The boy’s magnetic voice flowed like soothing jazz music into Craig’s ears. The boy then chuckled, studying him like he was the most amusing toy. “It’s good to see you.”

 

“Do I… know you?” Nothing about the boy in front of him spoke to him as being human, although there was an dull ringing in his head the way he felt whenever he forgot something important. He knew nothing about what's going on, being in an unfamiliar place, with an unfamiliar guy his age who acted as if they were the closest of bros. “Where the hell am I?”

 

The boy in the parka showed a pained expression, one so vulnerable and hurt that it almost made Craig feel obligated to lie about their acquaintance. With as fast as the expression had appeared, it vanished in the next moment, replaced with a neutrally bored laugh.

 

“No, I guess you don’t. For now, feel free to call me the Reaper, although it’s just an inherited title. As for your second question...you're in somewhere you shouldn't be, since you decided to die instead of Clyde Donovan.”

 

A revelation struck.

 

Craig felt himself trembling with anger. “Did you cause the loop that kills him over and over?”

 

“I need him to die enough times to qualify for my position.” the boy held out his hands in a nonchalant shrug, shaking his head, “since he needed to pay for what he did.”

 

“YOU BASTARD!!”

  
  
Craig lunged at the Reaper, only to have all his limbs frozen in place by an invisible force. He was stuck with his fist pulled back in preparation for a punch, feet inches off the ground. “Fuck!”

 

“Now, now, no need to be so rash with me, Tucker.” The boy moved his index finger from side to side, as if disciplining an inferior creature. “After all, he is your friend, so I’m giving you an alternative. You can either leave your precious buddy in the loop to die until he’s pulled here to replace me, meaning you’ll forget him entirely, or...”

 

“Spit it out. What do I need to do.” As much as he wanted to struggle, he knew there was no point fighting against a grim reaper. He’d just have to hear the other’s terms.

 

“That’s the spirit! The alternative is simple. I just need you to take back something of mine, and deliver it to the the proper place.”

 

“Can't you be a little more specific?”

 

“Nope! That's for you to figure out. Tick, tock, your time’s running. Remember, the next time you step in for Clyde,” the boy’s expression darkened. “Don't expect the same lenient treatment from me.”

 

The boy lifted a hand and the neglected box of cigarettes that was in Craig’s pocket floated out and landed snugly into the boy's opened palm. “Thanks for keeping these. I’ll be taking them back.”

 

“What? Wai---” Craig had so many questions. Why did he have the Reaper’s cigarette? What kind of relationship did they have and why did he remember nothing? And the riddles and Clyde’s circumstances and ---

 

“See ya, Tucker.”

 

With a final wave from the boy, the dimension before him faded away, like the crumbling shell of an illusion.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who asked me about Kenny's involvement in this fic, here it is. Congrats, you've made it to a major plot point!


	9. Roulette With Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *smut warning*
> 
> Everything is more or less planned, but no guarantees on the execution of my ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept editing and not wanting to post this, but for the slim possibility of there still being people who looked forward to this (which honestly, thank you for putting up with shitty writing), I shall toss this here and leave it.

“Clyde, can you help me look for him?”

Suddenly Craig found himself back at the bar, a cup of fruit punch resting in his right hand. His surroundings felt like déjà vu, but also a disorienting mess. The sensation of the liquid’s weight in his hand was foreign, like he didn't quite belong here in this moment but was thrown back into a scenario without any warning.

An image of dirty blonde curls flashed into his mind. He remembered everything. That was not a dream.

He heard Clyde’s reply: “I guess I can help. Where did you last see him, Kyle?”

Why did the Reaper send him back to this particular point, and not the usual “beginning of the day” whenever he failed to save Clyde? And the hint that the boy in orange parka had given him...

…

“The alternative is simple. I just need you to take back something of mine, and deliver it to the the proper place.”

...

Just when I thought I found the solution. Guess it’s back to the drawing board.

In the short time that Craig pondered the reason the Reaper sent him back here, he was struck with a revelation. The mysterious gift that was never delivered to Butters. The house party where said person is. These must be the thing and place mentioned in the immortal boy’s riddle. Everything was a just a hunch, but based on Craig’s interactions with the stunning boy in the underworld, along with the cigarette pack that was taken, he was lead to believe that the Reaper must have formerly been a human. Or perhaps disguise as one. The important takeaway was that Craig and the boy somehow knew each other, and that Craig had no recollection. Which meant the boy could have also been acquainted with Leonard Stotch.

Maybe it was in his best interest to test out different choices to seek the wanted outcome.

“I’ve checked everywhere in the mansion… last place I saw him was, like I said, in the dance room.” The ginger haired boy pointed in the direction of booming techno music and what sounds like a million dying donkeys chanting.

Clyde knit his brows together, genuine concern apparent as day on his face. Craig noted this fondly. His best friend always wore his heart on his sleeve. “Damn. It’ll be fine, Kyle. Craig and I will definitely find him for you!” The brunette turned to face Craig. “Can you search on the first and second floors? I’ll take third and fourth. It doesn’t hurt to look again.”   
  
“Actually, I’m searching the whole house,” Craig saw the incredulous look on both Clyde and Kyle’s faces, and continued before they could interject: “Clyde, I need you to go back to your place and bring the gift I mentioned. Find Butters and give it to him.”

“We can just grab the damn thing later, that’s not important!! Right now Stan’s missing and Kyle needs our—”

“Please.” Craig willed himself to keep his tone steady, gentle but firm in a way that was unyielding. He couldn’t risk letting Clyde go up to the fourth floor again, seeing what happened last time. He’d much rather deal with the tedious search alone than let Clyde be in the same situation. And as the Reaper had warned him, he was not allowed to intercept a second time. Of course, he could always test that theory, but he didn’t know if he wanted to piss off an immortal being with control over his friend’s literal life. “Trust me. It’s important.”

The jock held his gaze for several long moments, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it. You better have a good explanation when I come back for why this gift-giving takes priority over a missing person.”

Craig nodded. “I will.”

“Then I’m off,” Clyde drank his remaining punch in one shot, slammed his cup on the marble counter, and gave Kyle a quick pat on the back as he hurried out towards the entrance doors, speeding to a dash. Soon he was out of sight.

Awkward silence ensued.

When Kyle opened his mouth, Craig half expected the Jewish boy to blame him for sending Clyde away when he could have been assisting with the search, but instead, he felt his eyes widen as Kyle looked straight at him for the first time that evening and said: “the place’s impossible to search by yourself. Go up to third and fourth, I’ll check the rest. Meet back at the bar area after you’re done.”

“U—uh, sure. I mean. Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks.”

He swore he saw Kyle mouth ‘Thank you’ before the red haired boy turned and left with a renewed sense of urgency.

Maybe the only asshole here was himself, after all.

 

* * *

 

Third floor was a miss. No sign of the quarterback anywhere in sight.

Craig slowly climbed up the stairs leading to the fourth floor. He recalled running up them to find Clyde. The boy snorted. He must have seemed like a madman during the last cycle, knocking frantically on every door in his vision. He couldn’t blame the person in the bathroom for having sworn at him like a sailor; he must have annoyed the hell out of the poor guy… the poor…

“That’s where he was??” Craig quickened his pace. He knew where Marsh was all along. He had just been too occupied with Clyde at the time to have noticed.

Soon, he was in front of the bathroom door. Craig brought his knuckles to the door and knocked. No reply.

He knocked again.

Silence.

Craig took a step back and lunged forward, right foot meeting the door in a solid roundhouse kick and the door swung open, revealing a boy sitting on the tiled floor, leaning up against the sink cabinet.

“Occupied,” said the raven haired boy, eyes downcast and glued to the bottle in his hand as he swirled the alcohol around, creating tiny whirlpools that slowly calmed and bubbled weakly.

“What. The. Fuck.” Craig grimaced. Despite the large and glamorous setup of the bathroom, not to mention it was as big as his bedroom, he couldn’t help but be disgusted as soon as he entered. The unmistakable acidic tang of vomit mix in with what smelled like a blend of vodka and sake and a dozen different drinks invaded Craig’s nostrils. They hurt as if they’ve been stabbed.

“Do you not understand human language, Tucker? Go on your merry way.”

Instead of complying, Craig shoved away some of the empty bottles littered beside the boy with his foot, and sat down in the clearing he made. The floor tiles were freezing. “Or what? You know Kyle’s looking for you, right?” He should be dragging Stan down to Kyle and getting this over with, but something in Stan’s expression didn’t sit right with him. “Also how the hell did you carry all this booze here? Jesus Christ.”

At this, Stan finally turned towards him, shooting him a wry smile. “Heh. I have my ways.” Between hiccups, the raven haired boy extended his arm that was holding the dark bottle. “Want some? Got this from my dad’s wine collection. Burgundy: Cote de Nuits, 1990. Vintage shit.”

Craig accepted the bottle and took a swig. The liquid warmed his throat. “Isn’t wine supposed to be drunk fancily? Contained in crystal glasses for the presentation and all.”

“HA! My dad may drink under the pretense of cultured dessert wine tasting, but I prefer to drink from the bottle, like the fucking alcoholic I know I am.” The quarterback snatched the drink from Craig, took a swig himself, and handed it back.

The conversation ceased. They just sat there, passing the wine back and forth.

 

* * *

 

 

Soon, Craig’s vision was hazy and his face was burning. Maybe he shouldn’t have waited for Stan to open up. How much time have passed? He didn’t know anymore.

“Shit!” he turned to see two Stans tapping their bottles. “That was the last drop.”

“Fuck youuu—Marsh. Why didn’t you tell me you knew ninjutsu.”

“What the hell are you on Tucker.”

“There are two of you! WhicH one’s the real bastard?” laughed Craig, pointing at two equally amused faces.

When Stan opened his mouth to talk again, his face was serious. “You know, I thought I was the happiest kid. Not to brag, but I was popular, I had Cartman and Kyle and— ” the boy clutched his head and winced. “And?... I could have sworn there was another person… Aha! And Butters! There was also Wendy. Wendy was a lovely girl and she really deserved better than a piece of shit like me.”

The raven haired boy went on. “Not sure if you remember, but everything went south after my tenth birthday. I slowly degraded into everything I swore I wouldn’t be when I was older— I hated everything. It was then that I realized I was attracted to my best friend, when Cartman stole him away from me. After all these years of keeping it to myself, I finally confessed to Kyle in high school. That feeling when he accepted was irreplaceable.” Stan’s gentle smile crumpled into tearful rage. “BUT MY DAD JUST HAD TO DIVORCE MY MOM AND SLEEP WITH KYLE’S MOM!!”

The boy slouched over, cupping his eyes with his hands tiredly. “I said it.”

Craig was frozen. The bomb was dropped on him so suddenly, his brain was having trouble playing catch-up.“ Holy fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Does that mean you and Kyle are… siblings now?”

“No, it was just that shitty old man’s drunken mistake… Although Kyle’s mom is probably gonna break the news soon and marry my dad for his money. So, I guess.”

“I...where are your mom and sister?”

Stan lifted his head, tear streaks glistening on his face. “I don’t know. They fought shortly after my dad bought the mansion, while Shelly was still at her college. We don’t keep in contact anymore.”

“Damn. Why didn’t you go with your mom?” Asked Craig. There was a constant hum sounding through his skull, similar to when he got water in his ears after a nice dive in the pond.

“You think I didn’t want to??! After hearing what my dad did I just wanted to smash his head in, but-” Stan lowered his raised fist, sobbing. “But when I saw him in the dining room as mom was leaving with her suitcases, so alone and broken and afraid-” his voice cracked. “I saw myself. Suddenly I couldn’t abandon him anymore.”

Before Craig could summon enough rationality to stop himself, he found himself hugging Stan tightly. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He was familiar with crying alone in the aftermath of a divorce. His head was spinning wildly, and he could faintly register the shaking of the other boy as they embraced.

He felt Stan do the same, arms wrapped around his lower back. His eyes snapped open when he felt hands sliding down and feeling his ass. “Marsh, What the—mmmmph!”

Before he could finish his thought, Stan had shut him up with a deep kiss, tongue exploring the inside of Craig’s mouth. The raven haired boy then pulled away, and Craig finally caught a glimpse of the hungry look in his eyes. “I’ve always thought you were smoking hot and that we could maybe hate-fuck someday. You just had to tempt me.” Following his words, Stan went back to kissing Craig, while his hands worked swiftly to undress the lean boy.

Knowing that he should resist, Craig found himself simply whimpering when the kiss deprived him of all oxygen and any capacity to think straight. Judging by Stan’s zoned out look, the jock was the same. His chullo was pulled off his head, and before he had noticed, his pants and briefs were gone too. As far as he remembered they were sitting in the previous moment, but somehow Stan had brought them up on their feet, and was now leading him to one of the walls. The door was closed too. Strange.

“A-ah!” he accidentally let out his voice when Stan bit down especially hard on his neck and trapped him against the wall, blocking his escape route with both hands on either side of him. The voice sounded like a complete stranger. “Wait, Marsh, If anything I should be the one to do you.” What the hell was he saying???

“Why?” chuckled Stan as he now worked to unbuckle his pants, “Just because you’re a centimeter or so taller? I think not, Tucker,” he tugged Craig’s underwear down to his thighs, “Not when you’re so small and pretty.”

“You asshole!” shouted Craig as he punched Stan in the face without holding back. “Who the fuck are you calling small??”

Stan wiped the bleeding corner of his mouth with his index finger. He growled, eyes filled with darkened rage. “Now you’ve done it.”

A hand grabbed Craig’s crotch harshly and Craig had to bite his lips to prevent unbecoming whimpers from slipping out. He heard the sound of squeezing something out of a bottle. Stan’s other hand returned to play with his backside.

“!!!” Craig’s head was empty as the other’s fingers dipped into him, teasing and testing the bounds of his skin. They were coated in lubricant and entered him without much resistance.

More kisses, this time tasting of blood; whether it was his or Stan’s he did not know. He still saw a faint double of everything. If he ignored the sensation of something moving in his ass this would almost be pleasant.

“That should be good,” said Stan as he withdrew his digits, lifting up Craig’s left thigh for better access and lining himself up.

“Let’s not—” Craig shivered as Stan entered him without warning. Not all of Stan fit, so the jock was pushing and forcing it through. “S-shit it hurts!”

Stan planted a kiss on his cheek. “The pain will subside,” He started moving his hips, back at first, then snapping forward with quick bursts of force that made Craig cover his mouth. The pain was still there but an odd feeling eventually developed, one that made Craig lose sight of himself. With every thrust Stan rubbed Craig’s back against the wall, pushing him slightly up only to drop him down again. His thigh that was lifted felt numb, not used to such a flexible position.

“Fuck!!” he felt Stan shudder and a moment later, he felt the other’s come filling him to the brim. “It’s so warm inside you, Tucker.”

When Stan stopped moving, some rationality slowly returned to Craig.“Pull out already, you fast shooter.”

“Don’t tell me you think we’re done already.”

“Huh?”

 

* * *

 

  
“Stop- Ahhh!!” Craig was crying as Stan continued fucking him into the wall, his cock dripping. “I just-Ah—- c-ame—”

“Why … ha… are you so fucking good, Tucker...ha.. I can’t get enough of this...” Stan accentuated each word with a move of his hip, the place where his hand held onto Craig for balance was bruising with the force he put into each movement.

Craig was becoming strange. The alcohol in his system seemed to heighten his ecstasy, not to mention the unreal size of Stan’s cock. It easily brushed up against his prostate, sending him over the edge over and over. His body felt incredibly hot and sticky, and he couldn’t remember the number of times they’ve done it. Stan’s monster stamina kept them going. Everything felt like a dream.

“Ah—I-I’m coming!!”

It was in this moment that the bathroom door flew opened, hitting the wall with a bam. “I got your gift, Craig! You bette—” a familiar silhouette bursted through the door just as he reached orgasm, with Stan balls-deep inside him.

Was he still dreaming? Through half-lidded eyes, Craig turned his head to the direction of the voice. Suddenly, he was completely snapped out of his trance.

Clyde stood frozen at the door. The small blue box in the brunette’s arms dropped onto the bathroom tile.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having some troubles with life right now, sorry for the late upload.
> 
> Also I do my best to weave in details from previous cycles to make things fresh and not as repetitive, let me know what you think.
> 
> Side note: Roulette here is a reference to Russian roulette, and six for the number of bullets. I'm sure you smart readers can connect the dots and see that a Craig's gonna have a bad time.


End file.
